


An Unlucky Exploration

by h_nb



Series: Keaton [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Abandoned Building, Beating, Mandhandled, Whumptober, collapsed building, restrained
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:28:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26818099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h_nb/pseuds/h_nb
Summary: Whumptober Day Four: Collapsed BuildingIntroducing my OC Keaton
Series: Keaton [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956004
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	An Unlucky Exploration

Keaton leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms back and cracking his fingers. In front of him, his monitor displayed the latest set of photos he had been commissioned to edit, currently exporting. Keaton leaned back further, chair rolling across the wooden floor as he looked out his apartment window at the sun sinking in the sky.

He checked his phone. It was 8:30. He had time.

Leaning against the counter as he finished up the leftover pizza from the weekend, Keaton scrolled through the various articles he had been looking through for the past week. An abandoned railway station was reportedly supposed to be demolished sometime next month, so Keaton had moved this place to the top of his list, to check it out the next time he got a chance.

A few minutes later, with the pizza box tossed into the recycling, Keaton was driving away, his well-used car only jolting and sputtering once or twice as he left the bright lights of the city behind. In the passenger seat sat his camera bag and a bottle of water, and in the center console was his phone, k-pop playing through the speakers of his car as he drove through the increasingly silent night.

A few minutes away from the railway station, Keaton parked his car at a factory down the road, in between a few cars of night-shift employees. He locked his car and tucked the keys in his pocket, heading out down the abandoned tracks toward the station.

As he approached, walking over long, unmowed grass and wildflowers, he pulled out his camera briefly to get a shot of the building. Viewfinder up to his eye, there were a few bright flashes as Keaton grabbed some potential pictures, and there was a tentative smile on his face as he approached a side entrance to the station.

“Don’t be locked, don’t be locked,” he muttered, grasping the handle and turning, smile growing wider as it gave and the door swung open with a creek. “Yes!” Immediately again his finger was on the shutter and the lens was flashing as he took a couple dozen more photos of the inside of the abandoned building. The walls were sprinkled with graffiti, and the path covered with debris and old litter. Keaton switched on the flashlight on his phone, shining it up and around at the walls and ceiling, where massive swaths of paint had flaked off some time ago, and cracks seemed to run across some parts of the walls.

“Definitely can see why this is gonna be demolished,” Keaton murmured, listening carefully for the sound of concrete rumbling and cracking above them, noise that signified the building was going to give way on top of them. They didn’t hear any of that, but instead, they heard the sound of heavy footsteps above them, multiple voices speaking but muffled through the thick concrete walls.

“Crap,” Keaton muttered. He figured they must be construction workers, and Keaton really didn’t want to get charged for trespassing… again. The fine for that had sucked, and Keaton really didn’t want to deal with that again.

He stayed in the first room for a little while longer, getting shots of the room from different angles. After a while, Keaton noticed that the footsteps above him had stopped, and he couldn’t hear anything anymore aside from the wind whistling through the cracks in the building. So he crept further into the building, past old turnstiles that thankfully didn’t creak all that much and near bathrooms that still smelled awful. He snapped a dozen more pictures of each location, and as he moved through the abandoned station Keaton quickly got lost in exploring the place, eyes wide with wonder as he did so.

“Oh my god…” he murmured reverently, pausing to stare at a broken window, the images he could create from this already forming in his mind. Shattered glass scattered around the floor in front of him, covered in dust and debris, gleaming the moonlight that shone through the window. Keaton squatted down, tipping his camera to get the right angle. He shuffled to the side, tilting his head slightly and raising his camera back up to his eye. “Awesome.”

He stood after a few more pictures, only for his back to hit something solid. Keaton's heart jolted in his chest, and he was suddenly aware of someone else's breath behind him. He spun around, broken glass crunching underneath his shoes as he stared wide-eyed at the imposing man glaring down at him.

The man scowled, stepping towards Keaton and grabbing the camera out of his hand. With the strap around his neck, yanking on it only pulled Keaton stumbling forward. Keaton ducked his head defensively, and the strap slid off the back of his neck, completely in the hands of the stranger. "Hey!" he yelped, reaching for it as it was pulled out of his grasp. Instead of his hand closing around the camera, his wrist was grabbed tightly in an strong grip, squeezing so hard Keaton thought it might bruise.

"Knew there was a god damn spy in here," the man snarled, the scar curling around his jaw twitching in anger. Keaton tried to tug his hand away, eyes jumping from his wrist to the man's furious face.

"What?" Fear and confusion sent Keaton's voice trembling. "A- spy- what, hey, listen, I didn't- know this property was occupied, man, I swear, I just- wanted to take some pictures before it got demolished- wait-"

The man snorts, pulling Keaton forward despite his protests, through rooms that Keaton had just been taking pictures in, through a door marked "employees only" and up a flight of stairs where the concrete was beginning to crumble away.

He pushed a door open at the top of the steps, letting Keaton's wrist go and shoving him through. "Told you I heard something," the man grumbled as an entrance. "You fucking owe me, Alan."

Keaton whipped his head around, mouth falling open at the five or so people in the room, all glaring at him severely. "Who- you guys aren't- are you construction workers? I can leave, I'll pay the trespassing fine holy shit, I'm sorry, what the hell--"

"I'm not giving you shit." The one called Alan seemed to ignore Keaton's rambling for the moment, instead shoving Keaton back to the wall. Keaton's breathing stopped for several moments as Alan held a knife to his throat, an arm across his chest pressing Keaton's back to the wall. "What're you? Some kind of fuckin' cop? Reporter?"

"Looks too nervous for a cop," one woman called out. "Bet he's some journalist, someone looking to turn a tip into the cops instead."

"N-no, what? Oh my god, I swear, I'm not-- hnn--" Keaton's voice caught as the cold steel pressed further against his throat, and he prayed it wouldn't press much further.

"He had this with him." The man who had found him stepped forward, camera held high in his hand. "Taking picture of the building, probably recording us. Anyone wanna look through?"

Another woman snorted derisively. "Who cares? Just smash it."

"No!" Keaton screamed, voice cutting short when they felt the sting of an open wound on their neck, a slight cut just deep enough to send blood dripping down his chest. "N-no, please, that's-- I'm an- urbex blogger, not a- journalist, fuck, please, please don't break that." Panic made him thrash against the man who held him to the wall, just enough to shove him away from the wall and dart toward his camera, desperately trying to get it back in his hands.

Chairs scraped across the floor, multiple footsteps drew closer, and then hands were all over Keaton, roughly pulling his arms back and dragging him to a support pole that ran through the room.

"Get that rope." Alan's voice was thin with annoyance as he stood in the center of the room, commanding the people around him.

"Wait--" Keaton winced as their back slammed against the cement pole, shoulders straining as his arms were yanked behind the pole and his wrists were bound tightly with rope that scratched relentlessly at his skin. Several loops of rope wound around his chest and shoulders, securing him to the pole so firmly that he could barely squirm against it. "Please, you have to listen to me! I'm not-"

"And for god's sake, Peter, smash that damn camera. We don't need any evidence getting out."

"No no no _please-_ " Keaton's voice broke off again, but this time because a punch across the face caught him by surprise, head suddenly turning as half his face exploded in pain. 

"Yeah, good, shut him up, fucking snitch is giving me a migraine. Ingrid, we're moving up the timetable, go set those charges."

Keaton turned his head back at a sudden crash, tears blinking into his eyes as he took in the crushed glass and dented metal as it was thrown on the ground, and then hit with some heavy tool, possibly a sledgehammer. His chest shuddered with a barely repressed sob as he fought to stay in control of his breathing, what little he could.

A woman with short, sleek blonde hair stood, hoisting a large bag over her shoulder. "I'll text you when I'm done, won't be long." she said, disappearing out the door.

"Better not," Alan grumbled, turning and fixing Keaton with another heavy glare. "So. Tell us now if you don't want to make this worse on yourself. Who are you working for?"

"No one," Keaton said hoarsely, unable to move his gaze from his camera that was being crushed in front of his eyes. His other cheek suddenly stung in a hard slap from the man in front of him, and Keaton's eyes flinched onto Alan's face, wide with shock and pain. "N-no one, I don't work _for_ anyone, I'm not- I don't-"

"I can't with this, nah, if he's not gonna tell the truth he's not worth the time. We got that camera smashed, we'll just- I don't know, leave him here, who gives a shit."

Keaton pulled at the ropes, digging his feet into the ground as he tried to move forward, but the ropes only dug into his chest more, and twisted at the skin around his wrists. "Please, you have to believe me-" he gasped, then crying out when another punch left warm blood trickling from his nose into his mouth. He gagged on it, spitting it onto the ground while he tried to form more words, the right words that would make them listen to him.

"We don't have to believe anything you say, you goddamn snitch." Alan took out his phone, raising his chin to draw the attention of the others in the room. All together, they stood and exited the room, leaving Keaton bound to the pole behind them.

"Listen to me!" Keaton screamed hoarsely into the now empty room. His chest heaved with panicked breaths as his words echoed around him, met with only ringing silence. There were a few minutes of struggling, as Keaton begged to no one to be let out and set free. His mind was overwhelmed with fear and panic, barely noticing as the ropes that dug into his wrist tore at that skin, sending blood dripping down his hands.

Then there was a deep boom, loud enough that it seemed to reverberate throughout Keaton's entire being. His stomach dropped out from under him like he was on the crest of a the highest coaster, and then an explosion of sound reached his ears, sending everything into a disorientated discombobulation. Keaton head shot up, staring at the ceiling which was crumbling around him as the building collapsed underneath him.

The concrete broke away above him and for a moment, he could see the stars.

Keaton's body shuddered, thrown forward as the pillar he was bound to was ripped from its foundations, something severing the ropes or breaking the pillar around him. His head felt like it was being battered in a storm, or crushed by a truck

Keaton's ears rang, all other sounds silencing saved for the high pitched whine in his ears. Keaton was crumpled on his side, curled up with his head tucked into his head, broken concrete making an uncomfortable bed. Shock kept him there for minutes after the debris settled, barely breathing for fear that it would set something off, or that one of those people from before would find his body and put a permanent end to him.

When the only sound was the distant echo of rubble and dust, Keaton began to push himself up, broken up concrete dropping off his back like hailstones. His wrists screamed in stinging agony, skin torn from the ropes and covered in a film of gray dust like the rest of his body. A wave of dizziness washed over him, leaving him swaying unsteadily on his hands and knees as the tried to get up. Blood dripped from his nose onto the concrete, splashing on dusty stone. He watched it in a stupor for several minutes, lost in the haze of pain that rung in his head and throughout his aching body.

Time passed, and within time Keaton was able to summon the focus to get his feet under him, and stand on the slightly shifting concrete. He made his way to the edge of the building, leaning on a piece of wall that somehow hadn't fallen as the ground moved underneath him.

Finally his feet stepped on solid ground, even as the world spun around him. Keaton made his way through the overgrown field once more, no longer looking for a good shot but instead listening for approaching cars or unfortunately familiar voices. His hand scrabbled against the car door as he worked to unlock it, nearly collapsing into the drivers seat.

He exhaled, locking his door. He just needed to take a breather, after all that, shut his eyes for a little while. They were so heavy. Just a little rest was all he needed, and he would get back home where he could be safe.

When he opened his eyes again, the sun had risen high in the sky, beating down on his sore and tired body.


End file.
